My Name Isn't Valerie
by Alesford
Summary: Maybe it wasn't a romantic serenade, but it was supposed to fix things. One-shot. Brittana.


**A/N: I don't usually sail on the Brittana 'ship. I support it and I think it's fantastic, but I don't normally read it unless it's an exceptional piece and I've never written it before. I wanted to give it a shot, so here we are-based on Santana's song choice at Sectionals. As always, I hope you enjoy and please review.**

**Disclaimer: "Glee" does not belong to me.**

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**My Name Isn't Valerie**

When Brittany accidentally reveals that she and Santana are having sex, it's no surprise to anybody. The protective bond, the knowing glances, the giggling whispers, the pinky-holding; it all adds up. When Brittany purposefully declares that she and Artie are dating it's a surprise to everybody because it's as clear as day that the two Cheerios, however opposite, are soul mates.

But when New Directions returns to school after the winter break (and a surprisingly miraculous Christmas), something isn't right and it's safe to say that Brittany is confused. Everybody knows that Santana always sneaks out of her house after the traditional Lopez dinner (fiasco). It's common knowledge that her destination is the Pierce residence, and that they always welcome her with open arms.

Usually, Brittany is waiting at the window for her to pull into the driveway and stalk from her car like a crazy and enraged animal. She would have her present to Santana in her hands, ready to chip away at the anger ensconcing the Latina until she had _her_ Santana back—the one that was gentle and sweet and tolerant. She would smile and guide the shorter girl into the living room where a warm plate of cookies is always waiting and they would sit down and watch Charlie Brown with his pathetic little tree while curled into each other on the sofa. Normally, this is how Christmas would go.

This year, however, Brittany stood at the window all afternoon and evening, cradling the carefully wrapped stuffed animal (a duck, this year) against her chest as baby blue eyes stared through fogging glass into the Ohio winter night. This year, Santana never showed up at her door. There were no phone calls or text messages (initiated or returned). There were no MySpace or Facebook comments. There was no Santana in Brittany's life for a whole two weeks.

So when she enters the choir room and sees Santana, she wants to rush to her and ask her why she didn't come over on Christmas (or any of the other many days they didn't have to go to school). Instead, she's stopped in her tracks by a pointed glare, and she watches as Santana leans into _Puck's_ side (when it should be her). She stares sadly and finds a seat in the back corner, forlornly ignoring the confused glances sent her way throughout glee practice.

Even though they share almost all their classes, glee, and Cheerios, Santana is adept at avoiding her and Brittany just isn't fast enough to catch her. It takes all week before she catches Santana alone at her locker, violently stuffing books into her backpack. The Latina's shoulders tense, and she knows she's been caught.

"I had to eat all the cookies by myself," Brittany says.

"No wonder the freshmen were crying under your weight," Santana snaps, slamming her locker and turning to go (run). Brittany grabs her by the wrist with a firm grip. Santana's free hand tightens into a fist, and for a brief moment, Brittany wonders if she might actually get punched. But angry brown eyes lose their fire and become something of a mixture of apologetic and hurt.

"That wasn't a nice thing to say, Santana." They stay silent together, Santana's wrist still in Brittany's hand and brown eyes are locked on blue. "Why are you mad at me?" Brittany finally questions. Santana looks away. "Santana."

"I sang to you," she chokes out. "I sang to you like _Rachel freaking Berry_ suggested and you still stayed with the cripple."

Brittany lets go, even more confused, and watches as Santana seems to fold into herself. "What?" is all she can manage.

"'_cause since I've come on home, well my body's been a mess. And I miss your ginger hair and the way you like to dress. Won't you come on over? Stop making a fool out of me." _Her voice is soft and _broken_ as she sings the lyrics, a strong contrast to the way she belted it out at Sectionals.

Brittany stares silently as Santana struggles her way through the rest of the song, fighting so, so hard to keep the tears at bay because even if it's only Brittany that might see her break, she's still _Santana fucking Lopez_ and she does _not_ cry in public.

Santana looks at her shoes, down the hallway—anywhere but Brittany when she finishes singing. "I sang to you, but you didn't come back to me." She wipes at her face (at tears that definitely are not there) with the back of her hand and wonders if you can blame hay fever in the middle of winter in Ohio.

"I have blonde hair, and I wear the same thing to school every day," Brittany starts. "My name isn't Valerie." Santana finally looks at her with a raised eyebrow that says, 'Duh!' "How was I supposed to know you were singing to me?"

Santana falters. "You just… were."

"And if my name was Valerie, we wouldn't be Brittany and Santana anymore. We couldn't be…" She pauses for a second, scratching at her head. "Brittana. We'd be Vantana and that sounds like a dumb blonde name."

A bark of a laugh escapes Santana's lips and a shine fills her eyes that can't be attributed to the tears. Santana still doesn't say anything and they fall into another silence that is far less tense than before.

"I broke up with Artie. After Christmas. I felt mean." Brittany awkwardly shifts her weight from one Cheerio-dictated sneaker to the other.

"Why?" Santana asks.

"It was Christmas. Breaking up with somebody doesn't seem like something Santa would like."

"No, I mean, why did you break up with him?"

"Our names don't go together. Brittany and Artie. Bartie. It sounds like Barfie," Brittany offers blankly. Santana just stares. "I didn't love him. I took something special from him and I didn't love him when I did it. He looked at me sometimes like everybody else does—like I'm stupid and can't see that everybody thinks that. So I don't think he really loved me, either."

She pauses and looks longingly at the other girl before her. "You don't want to make lady babies with me. You said you didn't want to sing with me and that you didn't love me."

Santana shuffles her feet. "Yeah, well, that was last year and I was stupid last year." Her eyes cast downwards, she doesn't realize Brittany has stepped forward until their toes are nearly touching and she looks up to see pretty blue eyes looking down.

"You sang to me." Santana nods. "Are you sorry?" Santana nods again. "Can I kiss you?"

Santana doesn't nod again. Instead, she pushes up on the balls of her feet, hands coming to rest on Brittany's shoulders, and she presses her lips against the blonde's. It isn't a soft peck but it isn't searing either. It's passionate and it's different and both girls know it. This kiss says, "I'm here. I love you."


End file.
